


Emerald Secrets

by Mythril_Heart



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythril_Heart/pseuds/Mythril_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan meets Solas in the Emerald Graves. They spend a wistful day in each other’s arms. Fluffy... Maybe. Oneshot.<br/>Post Trespasser. Pre whatever shitstorm DA4 will be. Imagine your own Lavellan! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emerald Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> First fic. ;u; Correct me as it pleases you.

In the Emerald Graves, beneath the enchanting boughs of the _Vallasdahlen_ , her light footsteps added to the whispered songs sung by old knight-trees whose names were long forgotten. She had once been the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the saviour of the people. Now... Now she was merely of Clan Lavellan. On some days, days like today when the hours seemed to stretch endlessly, she began to question even that. She was here in order to speak to the Elves. She intended to implore and entreat and dissuade them from their plans to rebel in order to avoid what she feared would be inevitable bloodshed. So she walked.

The first arrow cut through the air, lodging itself into the knight-tree just behind her. A warning. She merely drew the cloak around her tighter, trudging forward with her head lowered. A second arrow, cutting through the wool of her cloak. She walked. Another arrow, landing precisely where she would have next placed her foot. She sighed, pulling away her hood.  
“ _Andaran Atish’an_ ,” she said through gritted teeth to the unseen guardians. An eerie disquiet was the only response. She heard it then: the rough whistling of the trees, the trembling of the earth, the almost violent rustling of leaves. Howling.

Another arrow, this time ripping through the armor she wore. Two more followed. They lodged themselves deep into the flesh of her torso. She could not cry out, all that came was an surprised gasp. She yanked the arrows free - none too gently - and tossed them aside, biting down on her cheek when the pain threatened to overwhelm her.  
“I said,” she bit out, “ _Andaran Atish’an._ ” The words came like a drawn out curse, and she struggled to say them with the silken syllables inherent in Elvish. A rush of wind behind her drew her attention, and she spun to face her unknown assailant. She realized too late that the arrows had been coated with poison, one that she had not built a resistance to. The edges of her vision blurred and she fell to her knees, her one hand still clutching at the arrow holes that fiercely bled. She tried to keep her eyes open, tried to look at the dark mass that was panting and breathing heavily before her. She couldn’t. With a frustrated sigh, she fell unconscious.

 

* * *

 

She woke in darkness with a startled gasp, the stinging pain in her belly a mere echo compared to the violent pounding of her head. She clutched at fur, drawing herself up — fur? She looked up.

_Solas._

He held her steady, cradled in his arms and over his lap, his piercing eyes looking into her own. She was momentarily breathless, staring in shock. It was his chuckle, soft and familiar, that woke her from her daze. It rumbled beneath her, warming her heart even as she fought to keep her face expressionless.

“Solas.” she said. She had tried to make the two syllables monotone, tried to turn that one word into a cutting edge that would hurt him. She couldn’t. His name fell from her lips almost like a plea, and she could no longer deny how much she had missed him.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he whispered in that gentle, soothing voice of his. She hit him. Right on the nose, she hit him with a quick swat of her palm. He reeled back, if not in shock, then in amusement. She straightened herself in his arms, gasping as pain shot through her entire body. She flung her one arm over his neck, holding him close as she buried her nose into his shoulder. His arms tightened around her, himself burying his nose into her hair.

They held each other.

He wished that he didn’t have to let her go, that he could sit here in this lonely cave with her in his arms always. His sighed into her hair, breathing her in steadily. She was the one who pulled away.

They said nothing, only staring into the others’ eyes. She broke the silence.

“Am I dying?” she asked simply, the question entirely too dramatic had it not been for the sincerity in her eyes.  
“No.” he said gently.  
“Am I already dead?” he smiled.  
“No, _Vhenan’ara._ ”  
She sighed contentedly, relaxing her body in his arms. She winced at the pain in her abdomen. He placed long, elegant fingers upon her wounds, magic rippling through the air. His palm was a conduit for the magic, and he set it to heal her, all the while staring deeply into her eyes.

Silence stretched between them. There was so much she wanted to ask.

 _What are your plans to —_  
_Tell me about the Elves you have —_  
_How do you intend on bringing down the —_

She knew none of her questions would be answered. Not today. Her aching expression was mirrored in him.

So she asked him questions, questions that didn’t matter, but somehow still mattered.

“Have I gained weight?” she asked, and he had to turn away to laugh. “It’s a serious question!”  
“You are a delight to have in my arms.” he said, turning his amused expression towards her. He kissed the tip of her ear.  
“That wasn’t an answer.” he merely smiled. She muttered something about ‘never gives a straight answer’ under her breath.  
“What’s that?” he asked with a quirk of his brow, despite having heard fully well. She sighed.  
“Has my hair grown?” He stilled, moving his striking gaze from her face and running his fingers — almost reverently — through the softness of her hair.  
“Yes.” he breathed, bringing a lock of her hair to his lips.  
“Yours hasn’t.” she said with a frown.  
“It hasn’t.” he agreed.  
“I’ve wanted to ask you... Ever since I found out.”  
“Ask, _ma vhenan_.”  
“Have you ever had —” she paused, trying to stifle a giggle that threatened to escape, “ — _dread_ locks?”  
“Is that a serious question?”  
“Would your answer change depending on mine?”  
“No.”  
“No as in it wouldn’t change your answer, or no as in you haven’t had dreadlocks?”  
“The former.”  
“Well then, what’s the answer?” he only smiled. “ _Fenedhis_ , Solas.” He chuckled, conceding.  
“I’ve worn many styles.”  
“I shall take that as a yes.”  
“Take it as you like.”  
“Take me as you like.” He looked at her, all trace of amusement gone. He looked at her with a longing that ate at her heart.

“Do you know...” she began, raising her hand to cup his cheek gently. “When I hear ‘Dread Wolf take you!’ I almost laugh.” He placed his hand over hers, turning his face to nuzzle her palm.  
“Solas...” she breathed.

_Why did you let yourself fall for me?  
Why did you let me fall for you?_

“ _Ma sa’lath, ma vhenan’ara..._ I will stop you.” she said gently, placing her forehead against his other cheek. “I will protect you, _emma lath_. I will save you. Even if it’s from yourself.” He said nothing. She continued:  
“And if I can’t save you —” she paused, “— I will take on the Dread Wolf myself.” He removed the hand still at his cheek gently, placing it above her now healed stomach, his warm hand still wrapped around them.  
“I know.”

They spent a long while in silence, doing nothing but hold each other.

“Your legs.” she remarked with a smile as she tilted her head up to look at him. “They changed. They’re like the Ancient elves’ now.”  
“I am an Ancient Elf.”  
“You’re an Ancient Elvhen _God._ ”  
“A minor detail.” she laughed, and he reveled in the sound.  
“Did you do squats? Lunges?”  
“No,” he said with a smile, “I did not.”  
“That hardly answers the question. Have you always had them?”  
“Yes.”  
“And you hid them.”

They were the right words; they were the wrong words. Silence fell over them again.

“Have I changed?” she asked softly, tracing unknown patterns onto the softness of his palm.  
“No,” he said, “You are, as you were then, beautiful.”  
“Sweet talker.” She said, recalling their first kiss. In him these words kindled the same memories: a panicked, hurried kiss that led to an unexpected desire that flared with untold passion, swallowing them both in its destructive embrace. The earnestness of their first kiss hung over them, an unforgettable memory that lingered in the air.

But in the present, in the present... His soft eyes met hers, and he inclined his head as though seeking permission to join their lips. She granted it. With a tilt of her head, her eyelids growing heavy with the restlessness that only the feel of his lips against hers could ease, she granted it.

He tasted of warm relief, flooding her in gentle waves, the bittersweet reunion setting fire to her until the very tips of her fingers, ears and toes. He tasted of longing, of an ache that had echoed in the silent halls of her heart since Crestwood. But the feel of his lips, soft and gentle against hers, made her forget. Forget that they were on opposing sides, their foolish, reckless love a treason against the ones they each sought to protect.

She tasted of love, of love, of love. She tasted of all that was good in him, of all that had been good when everything sang the same, and of all that was good in this world twisted by his own benighted claws. She tasted of the impossible, unattainable and undeserved forgiveness he blindly sought. On her lips he tasted his immortality — and salvation.

They broke the kiss, lingering a breath away from each other's lips. They looked into the other’s eyes for a long time, their unwavering gaze leading to more soft, sorrowful kisses.

“My wounds have healed.”  
“Yes.”  
“You healed them.”  
“I did.”  
“Thank you.”

More kisses, longer now. As passionate as they were gentle.

“I understand now,” she said between feathery kisses. “Why you said ‘in another world’... I understand now.” He said nothing, but his hold on her tightened, crushing her to him. She was still cradled in his arms, over his lap. She tilted his face to her, kissing him once more, only with more force. He answered in kind, his fingers diving into her hair as his lips devoured hers.

He broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing softly.

“I see you in my dreams.” she whispered. “Always.”  
“It is the only time I can allow myself to see you.” Solas said, burying his nose into her hair again.  
“I want to hold you in my dreams.”  
“I cannot,” his voice hitched.  
“I know.” she said, placing a finger on his lips, only to replace her finger with her own lips.

 

* * *

 

So the hours passed, with lingering kisses and passionate embraces that left them breathless and wanting.

But this day, like all others, had to come to an end.

She was the first to stand.

“Solas,” she began, not facing him. He did not say anything, only regarding with the wistful expression that became etched onto his features whenever he thought of her.

“ _Ma sa’lath, ma aneth ara, ma vhenan’ara..._ ” She was delaying the inevitable with her words. He came from behind, wrapping his arms around her small frame.

“Go, _emma lath_.” he said, kissing her hair one last time before withdrawing his arms.

She did not turn; she knew he would not be there.

But she would see her Dread Wolf again: in faded dreams and at the very end.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Andaran Atish’an** : Formal Elvhen Greeting  
>  **[Ma] Vhenan** : [My] Heart  
>  **[Ma] Vhenan’ara** : [My] Heart’s Desire  
>  **Emma lath** : My Love  
>  **Ma sa’lath** : [My] One Love  
>  **[Ma] Aneth Ara** : [My] Safe Place  
>  **Fenedhis** : Common cuss word. Used here as “Shit, Solas”  
>  **Vallasdahlen** : Life-trees. Trees planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dalish kingdom.


End file.
